"A reminder the graduation submission pieces are due next month. It's worth half your grade. No late submissions will be accepted without a doctor's note." Professor Cloudon was in excellent form today. You could have recorded an entire album with just about any sentence he said. He has one of those deep voices that simply work. A natural R&B sound without effort even when talking. As usual, his Audio Engineering 1b class was packed with hopefuls. The class of Audio Engineering 1a and Audio Engineering 1b had a joint class before we split into lab work.

Professor Cloudon flipped the chalkboard and kept writing all the information. His dark hand wrote quickly as he put the lesson up. It wasn't the first time he gave it out. Both classes had to turn something in, whether they did or didn't graduate that summer. And someone always managed to forget to turn it in, no matter how many times he reminded them.

A knock at the classroom door and in comes the African-American studies professor. Professor Cloudon dismisses us to the lab. Turning in my graduation submission piece early was on the list. As well as, skipping the lab to go to drop off paperwork for a rehearsal for The Tour. Way too much stuff to get done. The TV show has a list of tasks they need, like our next music performance and audio check. I bite my lip, plus I need to return Asher's jacket. That same jacket that I was wearing from the first time we kissed in the parking lot weeks ago. Because no, that's not kinda wannabe girlfriend creepy, even though it's only a casual thing. A casual thing that he keeps walking away from when it lights up. A casual thing that is driving me nuts. Nothing to look at here folks, just a chic who's a little too into it wearing a guy's jacket. Ok, it is creepy, but all the patches and everything is cool. The more I keep forgetting to return it and the more guilty I feel. I've been avoiding him not on purpose, but on purpose. It's not actively avoiding, but I'm not searching him out or anything.

Asher left some notes on changes to music I could make. He also checked up on me in text, which was cool. The conversation was mostly about making sure we both triple-check Paulie. He was right, given the chance he might screw us over again by not having cleared our music choice. Paulie screwed us once, but will not screw us twice. Complete appreciation of his support in making sure it doesn't happen again. I also get the fact that he ain't looking for me, either. We are both carefully avoiding each other in person. The texts are cool though. Maybe we exposed a little too much on both sides of that couch. I touched my healed tattoo, which was becoming a habit of mine. Tracing the lines of the bird that now takes up my neck was beautiful the first time I took off the bandages. It looked somewhat like the ones I drew in my journal, but it had more life. As if it was mid-flight in the best adventure of its life. I have too many things I need to do, but the bird was hands down the best thing to come out of all of this so far.

The door opened with a loud creak interrupting. It completely my list-making and thought process abruptly. The African-American studies Professor that walked through the door was beautiful. She had locked hair and over thirty-something looked to her in that I've seen some shit but I'm not jaded about it way. She had a ring shadow on her finger. It was barely notable against her coffee color skin but still, you could spot it. She made small talk with Professor Cloudon and she wasn't shy about coming on to him.

As a tall, smooth, intelligent, well-dressed black man, he's like everything you could want from a guy. It's too bad he had a thing for my mother for years. My mom loved my father, and he died in the war. After that, my mom didn't remarry. But she did have one guy into her. His name was Dennis Cloudon. He was the sound engineer at the studio. She played the organ part-time. Although, she never took him up on the relationship as far as I know. They stayed friends, and I saw him around from time to time. He went on to become Audio Engineering Professor at UC Davis, which is why both my brother and I went to school here. We had the grades to get in, but knowing the end and outs for paying for it wasn't something my family knew about. When my mother went to school, the cost was so much less. If it wasn't for Dennis, I wouldn't be on the road to my degree. Because college didn't cost what it used to cost when my mother went to school. Even with my dad's benefits, Dennis' knowledge was valuable. And that knowledge still didn't pay for everything. Behind Dennis' back was my grandmother's guitar. It sat in a glass case and from time to time when he did an example of blues, he would pull it out for the class and play. She had two, one my brother got and one I got. My brother sold his guitar to him to pay the last bit of expenses for my college. Someday I'm going to buy that guitar back.

I waited for a chance when the two professors were done talking to each other. But I admit watching her shoot her shot again at Dennis was a bit sad, but I get the sentiment. It is probably what kept Dennis pining after my mother all those years. Maybe it's a connection where wires get crossed. I think if my mom lived longer, and she had more time, Dennis might have gotten his shot after all. The other professor leaves and I step up to Professor Cloudon with my submission.

"Sabali, an early submission always on top of it?" He was right. I was on top of it. This is only one of two parts because it still needs to be performed before I get my grade. I was nerding out on the music project before the semester was over the last year in Audio Engineering 1a. I need this class for my music education degree and I wasn't messing around.

"It's better early considering the show and everything," I answered him.

Worry was at the edges of his brown eyes. "Don't get distracted. You're so close to being what you want to be," he smiles, but it's a sad smile. "Your mother would be proud." The comment caught me a little off guard. She would be proud to see me graduate. I didn't get much of high school graduation because I was partly homeschooled. The only high school event I got was Prom. And Prom with my sorta ex-boyfriend that ended on the half-ass sex. He wasn't into me anymore because I was always busy with my mom. But he was a nice guy who took me to Prom anyways. He was a nice guy I wish had been honest with me and broke up with me before Prom. I don't fully regret having sex with him but I wish he had been open and honest with me. It felt like my first time having sex was a white lie and I hate that. It was nothing like even the tiny bit that happens with Asher the other weekend. But I got Dennis worrying that I will throw it all away by being distracted by a long shot. And he's right, long shots aren't a good idea for me. The kind subtext was easy to read from him.

"Ya, she would have been proud." My voice cracks on the words. I try not to get sucked into the feelings of it all. It was good to hear it from him but... A part of me didn't want to go back to that place of sadness with anyone but my brother. Not even for my mother's close friend.

We talk back and forth and he gives me more info on my performance date. I write it all down in my journal and head back to my car.

a/n: next coming out in like less than 2 days. this is a split.